


Moonsault

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Flirting, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 00:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mustafa Ali agrees to try and teach Drew Gulak how to do a moonsault. Not that Drew wants to do a moonsault at all. That would be stupid.





	Moonsault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedLeaderfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLeaderfic/gifts).



“For God’s sake, Gulak, just _ask him_.”

Drew Gulak stared at Tony Nese. Luckily Tony was looking at his own bicep and not him. “What?”

“You won’t shut up about that Ali kid,” Tony said. He took a moment to nuzzle his arm lovingly, and Drew waited for him to continue, feeling chilly sweat breaking out all over his body. “So you should just stop denying it and finally admit you want it, and ask him.”

Drew took a couple of quick, shallow breaths, then realized he was at risk of hyperventilating. He drew in air slowly, resisting the urge to rummage in his duffel for a paper bag. “I have _nothing_ I want to ask that showboating showoff! _Nothing!_ I loathe the sight of him! Him and his stupid 450 splashes and his ridiculous somersault leaps and his dumb floppy hair--” Drew cut himself off before he could add that he also cordially disliked the way Mustafa’s thighs looked when he tumbled, and despised the whole sparkly-dreamy Disney prince aesthetic he had going. Stupid. Ludicrous.

Tony glanced at him then, and there was a hint of pity in his narcissistic eyes that made Drew want to tip over the table onto him and run away. “I see your eyes when you look at him. I see what you’re longing for.”

“You...you do?” This was horrible. What could Tony see?

Tony sighed, exasperated. “Just ask him to teach you some of those high flying moves you want to learn, Gulak. For God’s sake.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Drew almost blurted out something very unwise in his relief, then went for bluster instead. “As if I couldn’t learn everything he had to offer in an hour, really.”

“You think?” Drew froze as Mustafa Ali sat down next to Tony Nese, sandwich in hand, and went on, “You couldn’t do a moonsault with a week of practice.”

“Oooh, that sounds like a challenge.” Brian Kendrick appeared out of nowhere, looking Drew up and down. “I think young Gulak has unseen depths. I tell you what, Ali, I’ll donate five hundred dollars to Sami for Syria if you can teach Gulak how to do a moonsault in a week.”

“Why would you do that?” Mustafa said, looking suspicious. 

“Maybe I’m just bored and it would be a hoot to watch you try to teach Gulak,” Kendrick said with a smirk.

Drew was starting to feel like this conversation was slipping away from him. “A moonsault is child’s play,” he said loftily, getting things back under control. “The real challenge would be that flippy showboat pulling off a half-decent Dragon Sleeper.”

“Five hundred dollars…” Mustafa said as if Drew hadn’t said anything, a thoughtful look in his eye. “You know what, Kendrick? I’ll take you up on that.”

“Now, wait just a second,” Drew said. “Why should I help you raise money for Sami Zayn’s charity?” 

“Because it would help people who are suffering, Gulak,” Mustafa said. “Or I guess you could do it to prove that your ground-based offense is a choice--and not just because you’re scared to go to the top rope.”

Drew glared at his smug, haughty face. “You’re on, Ali.”

Mustafa stuck out his hand, and after a moment’s hesitation Drew shook it. The grip was warm and strong, solid but not aggressive. Drew had hoped it would be weak. It wasn’t.

“Oh, this should be fun,” Kendrick cackled gleefully.

* * *

“...and then you just… jump backwards,” Mustafa said from the ring behind Drew as Drew stood on the turnbuckle.

“This is dumb,” Drew said. The words echoed around the empty auditorium as he stared out at the empty seats. Soon they’d be full of fools and sycophants screaming to see sentons and moonsaults and hurricanranas. “I can’t even see my opponent! For all I know he’d be on the other side of the ring by the time I did it, and I’d--” _look like an idiot._ His knees were shaking just a little; annoyed, he reached down and squeezed them.

“That’s why you’ve got to do it quickly,” Mustafa said. “No hesitation. No fear.”

“I’m not _afraid,_ ” Drew snapped. “See?” He tried to throw himself into one of those beautiful, simple moonsaults he saw all the time--but all he managed to do was tilt his head back and sort of hop awkwardly backwards off the turnbuckle. He could hear Perkins and Swann, sitting out in the stands, snickering a little. _Shit._

“You’re too stiff,” Mustafa said. “Just bend your knees, push off, and sort of curve into it.”

“Curve into it. Right,” muttered Drew, climbing back up. He bent his knees--and then froze, unable to push off. After a moment, his knees started shaking in earnest and he had to climb back down. “You show me, hotshot.”

With a shrug, Mustafa climbed a turnbuckle and threw himself into a moonsault like a rainbow, or a river’s bend, or a wild bird in flight, touching down lightly on the mat with a smile on his stupid handsome face. “Your turn,” Mustafa said.

Drew went back up and looked out at all the empty seats. He could do this. He could do this. Far up in the stands, Rich Swann whistled sharply and Perkins started laughing, and Drew hopped back down, his face burning. “Never mind,” he said. “This was a stupid idea.”

“I’m not giving up so easy,” Mustafa said.

“I’m not _giving up_ at all,” Drew snapped. “It’s just a waste of my time, that’s all.”

“Why do you hate high flying so much, anyway?” Mustafa’s voice came to him as he was halfway out of the ring.

“I’ve told you,” Drew said, turning to glare back at him. Mustafa was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the ring, looking up at him, and Drew looked away from what looked almost like honest curiosity in those eyes. “It’s irresponsible. It’s dangerous. You’ll--I mean, someone will hurt themselves.” He had a sudden vision of Mustafa Ali crumpled in pain, tears in his eyes as he clutched at a blown-out knee, and he felt something twist inside him that he tried to tell himself was triumph and whatever that German word was for feeling happy when someone got hurt.

“Look,” said Mustafa. “You said I couldn’t learn how to apply a good Dragon Sleeper. Teach me how to do that.”

“And have you use it against me? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“I promise I’d never use it against you.” Mustafa actually crossed his heart, the dork. “Besides, I’ll never do it as well as you.”

Well, there was no arguing with that, was there? “Okay, so the opening is when your opponent is on his knees and you’re behind him,” Drew said, and got on his knees, waving at Mustafa to stand. Then you kneel and put your knee in my back, like--yeah, like that. Bend me backwards and put my chin under your arm and--uh. Yeah.” Drew stared up at the lights of the arena, feeling Mustafa’s arm against his throat and Mustafa’s knee in the small of his back, and suddenly realizing that if Mustafa exerted even the tiniest bit of pressure Drew was suddenly going to be in a world of pain.

“Am I doing it right?” he heard Mustafa say, and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit him, bent backwards over Mustafa’s knee, helpless and at his mercy. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt at this level,” Drew managed to say. “To lock it in you’d have to lean back on me a bit.” He waited, expecting Mustafa to test it out, bracing himself against the incoming pain, but instead Mustafa just… stayed there. Drew wasn’t sure where to put his hands--generally his opponents flailed around a lot--but after a moment they came to rest on Mustafa’s biceps. They were really strong arms, Drew found himself thinking. He supposed they’d have to be, to pull off some of those stupid flashy moves. If he reached up, he could probably tangle his hand in Mustafa’s hair, Drew thought idly. There was a risk that would inspire Mustafa to tighten the hold, of course.

He wondered if maybe it would be worth it.

“Okay,” he said instead. “I think you’ve got it okay.” Mustafa immediately let him go. Drew rolled away, and once there was some space between them he was able to grin and say “You’ll never be as good as me at that, of course.”

“I don’t need to be,” Mustafa said quietly. He crossed his legs in the middle of the ring. “Your style is great. I like my own style. It’s good to understand different approaches.”

“How open-minded of you,” Drew tried to jeer, but it came out more tired than anything. Perkins and Swann had left, and the arena was quiet except for the distant banging of equipment. He sait down next to Mustafa and they looked up at the rafters in silence for a while.

“No really,” said Mustafa. “Why do you hate high flying so much?” His voice was cautious. Drew suddenly remembered the feel of his arm locked under Drew’s chin, stopping just short of pain.

“When I was thirteen,” Drew said, then stopped, appalled, at the sound of his own voice. 

“Yeah? Go on.”

“I had a friend. He was on the soccer team. Their star. I dared him to climb a tree with me one day.” Drew closed his eyes and felt it again: the wind in his hair, the roughness of bark under his hands, the city stretching out around him, dizzying. The smile on Kamren’s face as they hung there, together alone above the world. Drew had yearned to lean in closer. “He slipped and fell. Broke his ankle.” Simple sentences seemed best. “He missed the rest of the season. Blamed me. Never spoke to me again.”

“Oh,” said Mustafa. “I’m sorry.”

 _The worst part was seeing him suffer,_ Drew wanted to say. The words seemed lost inside him. _He was right. It was my fault._ “I liked him,” he said instead.

“Well, sure, if he was your--”

“No,” Drew said. His fingers were cold and shaking. It felt like throwing himself into space. “I mean, I _liked him._ I really… liked him,” he limped to the end of the sentence, feeling the flat pathetic emphasis of it hanging in the air.

“Oh,” said Mustafa. A long pause. “Then I’m really sorry,” he said.

“Me too,” said Drew.

There was a long pause, and then Mustafa stood up, dusting his hands together. “You ready to try again?”

 _I should probably say something cutting and sarcastic and leave,_ Drew thought, staring up into the rafters. “One more try, I guess,” he said instead.

He got onto the turnbuckle, but Mustafa didn’t stay in the ring. This time he slipped under the ropes and stood on the floor in front of Drew. “Maybe the problem is that the challenge is too small for you,” Mustafa said. “Don’t go into the ring. Moonsault out of the ring onto me.”

“You’re kidding,” Drew snarled, staring at him, feeling his knees shaking.

“You weren’t always afraid of heights,” Mustafa said. “It’s not really the height that’s scaring you. I’ll break your fall.”

Drew looked down at Mustafa’s grinning face and wanted to hate him, but all the nice warm hate seemed to have turned to ashes in the last hour or so. “You’ll move,” he said.

“I won’t.”

Drew believed him. Mustafa Ali, with all his stupid ideals and dreams, was never going to move if he said he wasn’t going to. 

“If you do a moonsault, I’ll treat you to dinner,” Mustafa said.

That managed to spark some anger in Drew. Obviously Mustafa thought there was no chance of _that_ happening. Well! Drew would show him!

Without letting himself think about it, Drew hopped up onto the top of the turnbuckle, turned around, and threw himself backwards.

The rafters careened wildly around him, and he knew he should feel panicked, but instead he felt strangely peaceful. He’d made his decision. The world turned beneath him, and for a dizzy moment he felt like he could see _everything,_ that it was all part of something bigger, everyone connected to everyone else: no boundaries, no differences, just this feeling of falling into the universe. As he rotated, he saw Mustafa’s face come into view, saw his surprised and delighted smile a split-second before Drew crashed into him and brought them both tumbling to the ground.

“You did it!” Mustafa sounded gleeful. Drew lay on his back, blinking up at the lights. Mustafa grabbed his shoulders, pulled him up, and hugged him. “Gulak, you did it!”

After a moment, Drew put his arms around Mustafa as well. “You can call me Drew,” he said.

Mustafa whacked him gently on the shoulders a few times. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Drew.” He drew back, still smiling. “Where do you want to go to dinner?”

Drew looked at him. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was the craziest thing. 

“Take me someplace new,” he said. “Surprise me.”


End file.
